Best Famous Plastic Bag Poems
Here is a collection of the all-time best famous Plastic Bag poems. This is a select list of the best famous Plastic Bag poetry. Reading, writing, and enjoying famous Plastic Bag poetry (as well as classical and contemporary poems) is a great past time. These top poems are the best examples of plastic bag poems.
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Written by
David Lehman |
The woman said yes she would go to Australia with him
Unless he heard wrong and she said Argentina
Where they could learn the tango and pursue the widows
Of Nazi war criminals unrepentant to the end.
But no, she said Australia. She'd been born in New Zealand.
The difference between the two places was the difference
Between a hamburger and a chocolate malted, she said.
In the candy store across from the elementary school,
They planned their tryst. She said Australia, which meant
She was willing to go to bed with him, and this
Was before her husband's coronary
At a time when a woman didn't take off her underpants
If she didn't like you. She said Australia,
And he saw last summer's seashell collection
In a plastic bag on a shelf in the mud room
With last summer's sand. The cycle of sexual captivity
Beginning in romance and ending in adultery
Was now in the late middle phases, the way America
Had gone from barbarism to amnesia without
A period of high decadence, which meant something,
But what? A raft on the rapids? The violinist
At the gate? Oh, absolute is the law of biology.
For the *********** seminar, what should she wear?
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Written by
Emanuel Xavier |
It rained the day they buried Tito Puente
The eyes of drug dealers following me
as I walked through the streets
past shivering prostitutes
women of every sex
young boys full of piss
and lampposts like ghosts in the night
past Jimmy the hustler boy
with the really big dick
cracked out on the sidewalk
wrapped in a blanket donated by the trick
that also gave him genital herpes
and Fruit Loops for breakfast
past the hospital where Tio Cesar
got his intestines taken out
in exchange for a plastic bag
where he now shits and pisses
the 40’s he consumed for 50 years
past 3 of the thugs
who sexually assaulted those women
at Central Park
during the Puerto Rican Day parade
lost in their machismo,
marijuana and Mira mami’s
‘cause boricuas do it better
Tito’s rambunctious and unruly rhythms never touched them
never inspired them to rise above the ghetto
and, like La Bruja said, “Ghet Over It!”
his timbales never echoed
in the salsa of their souls
though they had probably danced
to his cha-cha-cha
they never listened to the message
between the beats
urging them to follow their hearts
On a train back to Brooklyn
feeling dispossessed and dreamless
I look up to read one of those
Poetry In Motion ads
sharing a car with somebody sleeping
realizing
that inspiration is everywhere these days
& though the Mambo King’s body
may be six-feet under
his laughter and legend will live forever
The next morning
I heard the crow crowing, “Oye Como Va”
his song was the sunlight in my universe
& I could feel Tito’s smile
shining down on me
|
Written by
Ntozake Shange |
somebody almost walked off wid alla my stuff ?not my poems or a dance i gave up in the street? but somebody almost walked off wid alla my stuff
like a kleptomaniac workin hard & forgettin while stealin? this is mine/this aint yr stuff/?now why don’t you put me back & let me hang out in my own self
somebody almost walked off wit alla my stuff ; didn’t care enuf to send a note home sayin ?i was late for my solo conversation? or two sizes to small for my own tacky skirts
what can anybody do wit somethin of no value on?a open market/ did you getta dime for my things/?hey man/ where are you goin wid alla my stuff/?to ohh & ahh abt/ daddy/ i gotta mainline number ?from my own ****/ now wontcha put me back/ & let? me play this duet/ wit silver ring in my nose/?honest to god/
somebody almost run off wit alla my stuff/ ?& i didnt bring anythin but the kick & sway of it ?the perfect ass for my man & none of it is theirs ?this is mine/ ntozake ‘her own things’/ that’s my name? now give me my stuff/ i see ya hidin my laugh/ & how i?s it wif my legs open sometimes/ to give me ?some sunlight/ & there goes my love my toes my chewed ?up finger nails/ niggah/ wif the curls in yr hair/?mr. louisiana hot link/
i want my stuff back/?my rhythms & my voice/ open my mouth/ & let me talk ya ?outta/ throwin my **** in the sewar/ this is some delicate ?leg & whimsical kiss/ i gotta have to give to my choice/?without you runnin off wit alla my ****/?now you cant have me less i give me away/ i waz?doin all that/ til ya run off on a good thing/
who is this you left me wit/ some simple ***** ?widda bad attitude/ i wants my things/?i want my arm wit the hot iron scar/ & my leg wit the? flea bite/ i want my calloused feet & quik language back?in my mouth/ fried plantains/ pineapple pear juice/ ?sun-ra & joseph & jules/ i want my own things/ how i lived them/?& give me my memories/ how i waz when i waz there/?you cant have them or do nothin wit them/
stealin my **** from me/ dont make it yrs/ makes it stolen/?somebody almost run off wit alla my stuff/ & i waz standin? there/ lookin at myself/ the whole time ?& it waznt a spirit took my stuff/ waz a man whose ?ego walked round like Rodan’s shadow/ waz a man faster?n my innocence/
waz a lover/ i made too much ?room for/ almost run off wit alla my stuff/?& i didnt know i’d give it up so quik/ & the one runnin wit it/?don’t know he got it/ & i’m shoutin this is mine/ & he dont ?know he got it/ my stuff is the anonymous ripped off treasure? of the year/
did you know somebody almost got away wit me/?me in a plastic bag under their arm/ me ?danglin on a string of personal carelessness/ i’m spattered wit? mud & city rain/ & no i didnt get a chance to take a douche/?hey man/ this is not your prerogative/ i gotta have me in my? pocket/ to get round like a good woman shd/ & make the poem?in the pot or the chicken in the dance/
what i got to do/?i gotta get my stuff to do it to/?why dont ya find yr own things/ & leave this package ?of me for my destiny/ what ya got to get from me/?i’ll give it to ya/ yeh/ i’ll give it to ya/?round 5:00 in the winter/ when the sky is blue-red/?& Dew City is gettin pressed/ if it’s really my stuff/?ya gotta give it to me/ if ya really want it/ i’m ?the only one/ can handle it
-----By: Ntozake Shange.
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Written by
John Matthew |
A kite flutters,
On a high tension wire —
Against a stark blue sky.
Beggar and old mother huddle
On Govandi Railway Station —
The dirtiest station in the universe.
He shows her a plastic watch,
Smiles, “See I have time,”
She, old, gnarled, wrinkled,
Looks through beady eyes,
“I have no need for time.”
Children toss rubber ball —
In cricketing passion.
Jagged slum roofs puncture the sky,
Open drain stinks.
Mother and son —
Hungry, disowned, dispossessed —
Govandi platform is home.
A plastic bag, clothes muddy brown,
He extends a hand,
A black plastic watch on wrist,
“God will do miracles,
Give this man a meal.”
The kite flutters;
Time stands still over Govandi Station.
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